(P)A...
Illustration
(P)
A Negro died and went to heaven. He got with several of his race and they started comparing life histories. Finally, they approached God, and their spokesperson said, "Lord, you just don't realize how tough it was down there! I was born black. I was of a despised race!" And God said, "I was once a Jew." The Negro went on, "Yes, but I was persecuted. My daddy was innocent, but still the Klan hanged him." And Jesus showed them his own nail-scarred hands. "You don't understand, Lord!" The black man went on. "I never had a cent, no education, no home. People laughed and scoffed at me. Why, when I was a baby, we had to flee our home and move to another city for the safey of our lives." And God smiled tenderly. He placed his big arm around the black man's shoulder and he said, "I know how it is, my son. I have been there myself." And so he has. God did not send us a book, an idea, or a song. He did not send us a sermon, a picture or even a friend. Instead God came himself. He gave us his presence more than he gave us an explanation. He gave us himself pressed against a wooden cross, a figure of suffering silhouetted against a Friday sky. He gave us his own life, death and resurrection.
- Crotts
A Negro died and went to heaven. He got with several of his race and they started comparing life histories. Finally, they approached God, and their spokesperson said, "Lord, you just don't realize how tough it was down there! I was born black. I was of a despised race!" And God said, "I was once a Jew." The Negro went on, "Yes, but I was persecuted. My daddy was innocent, but still the Klan hanged him." And Jesus showed them his own nail-scarred hands. "You don't understand, Lord!" The black man went on. "I never had a cent, no education, no home. People laughed and scoffed at me. Why, when I was a baby, we had to flee our home and move to another city for the safey of our lives." And God smiled tenderly. He placed his big arm around the black man's shoulder and he said, "I know how it is, my son. I have been there myself." And so he has. God did not send us a book, an idea, or a song. He did not send us a sermon, a picture or even a friend. Instead God came himself. He gave us his presence more than he gave us an explanation. He gave us himself pressed against a wooden cross, a figure of suffering silhouetted against a Friday sky. He gave us his own life, death and resurrection.
- Crotts
